Unforgettable
by The Red Flag
Summary: Sephiroth wants to have the perfect life - a wife, children and a white picket fence house, but at what cost? (Multiple pairings within including M/M)


The sun burns out and his car takes a hit to Motel 66. Off the beaten highway and to forgotten territories, becoming a nameless ghost in the dying afternoon. Money hits the front desk, coins twirling, startling the innkeeper's cat.

"One bedroom. Biggest bed you have."

She looks at him over her rhinestoned reading glasses. No luggage, just a small suitcase, "For one or-"

He slips an extra 50. "For the noise complaints...if there'll be any."

Room 17 written on a green key tag. End room closest to the road on the second floor, well ventilated, paper thin walls and carpet that smelt like booze. Lampshade, cobwebbed, cast ugly yellow light into the aged room. Walls a dull grey and floral sheets from the war era - bed lumpy, probably as old as the damn sheets. Suitcase pops open on the desk, lights up a cancer stick and fills the room with Vegas casino stench. Damn place had an old frequency radio, tapped the thing and fiddled through the static until it hit Frank Sinatra's Polka Dots and Moonbeams.

TV box didn't work, antenna all bent out of shape and line access was a good joke. Clock on the wall a good 3 hours behind, his watch ticked to 7pm, then 8, then 9. Occupied himself with the tunes of Glenn Miller, anticipation growing. Pacing now. Room was getting hot. Shirt, gift from Aerith, was a bother. A button went missing just this morning. It wouldn't be missed and was thrown in the corner of the room. He rolled his shoulders - tense, pulled something playing tag with his kid on Monday. Anxiety. Same tension in his chest and throat that he would get when he and Aerith argued about Godzilla or whatever it was. His stomach felt like he swallowed a ball of lead.

Aerith...

Knock on the door. Finally.

"Someone order a pizza?"

His hand stopped on the hatch lock, "...No."

Deep, sultry laugh, "How about some rump?"

He groaned, unlocked the door, "You're fucking late."

Devilish grin, hand flicking him on the chin, as his eyes ghosted up his body, "Don't be mad, Petrichor. I didn't delay without reasons."

There were more reasons to be sceptical than trusting of Genesis' reasons like last Thursday, shadowy figure tossed a lost baseball to his son and the mystery man who helped carry his wife's groceries, "Why can't you be a gentleman like him, Sephiroth?"

Newspaper hides his face, stock market taking a piss on investors again, "Thought you said something about independence." he said.

Burnt steak for dinner never tasted good.

He'd give the redheaded bastard another bloody nose for even coming close to his family, but the smug ass would crack his neck, "Don't play the victim, Sephy. You're the one who can't get enough of me."

Sephiroth groaned, "Let's just get this over with." He pulled him by the forearm and tried to seal the deal with a solid smashing of lips. Silver pen. Pushing against his mouth.

"You're gonna have to sign first." Wad of paper on a clipboard shoved against his chest.

Frowning, "Since when was it business before pleasure?"

Genesis lit one up, puffing smoke into the dingy air, "Since you got flakey on the details last time. I can't cover your ass for the boss just because I like you."

Despair. This whole thing was trouble. His wife, his kid - nothing but collateral damage if he fucked up.

The redhead quirked a brow, "What's the matter, honey? In places like these, you can't leave the business. Run away from a secret corporate paramilitary underground organisation; they'll track you down for life. I mean what...did you think you could just grab a woman, drop in your resignation, watch her pop out a few kids and then hey presto! You're an ordinary functioning civilian."

"At least I didn't end up as a heavyweight like you."

He smiled that malicious smile, "I had so much to offer you if you stayed at Shinra. But instead, you're helping me help you from being hunted down and killed by fucking me in an exchange for information. I told you to move out of the plate - you really were far too easy to find...or did you want to be easy to find? Because you know I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

"Don't be ridiculous. There's far more a woman can offer me than you, Genesis." Cold remark, but he didn't take insult. Instead he puffed and chuckled, handing him a fag and a light.

"Funny. I'm Genesis, and she's what - just a woman?"

Wedding bells in spring. He couldn't look her in her sad green eyes for weeks prior. "Chop it all off!" Hairdresser mortified. "Are you absolutely sure? Your curls-" "And straighten it...please. I-I want it to look exactly like this." 6 hours and 700 gil later, wash. cut, bleach, wash, treat, wash, dye, wash, keratin straightening, wash, treat, wash, cut, blow dry - hair red and no longer than her jaw. For the first time he paid attention. Strolling down the aisle, crisp white suit, eyes so vibrantly blue with the mop of red hair. He said "I do." But when the clothes came off, the honeymoon was over before it began. Champagne drinking alone, watching porn on their complimentary cable service. Hotel staff would have a field day if they found out that the pretty man he married was now a sobbing woman staring at her magazines full of billowing dresses, curly up-dos and pink bouquets.

Just a woman. A woman who inhaled folate and ingested every herb to get herself pregnant, because she only had one shot. And on that day he was pretending she was someone else. Climax had him shivering on the bathroom floor. Tiles cold, skin wet. How many paracetamol pills did he have to take to die? 11 months full of counselling, he barely remembered the ambulance that took him to the ward of screaming people, or the group therapy sessions, or the mysterious gifts that smelt like cologne, or the news that he was going to be a father, or that the wriggling mass of human DNA in his arms was his son.

She was just a woman. Snatching the clipboard, he signed 27 pages, cigarette burning down to the end in his mouth. Plucked from his lips, sweet kiss granted.

Business was a matter of the past as they fell into bed, curling around each other, touches turned to grabs, playful ruts turned to meaningful thrusts. Pleasure shooting through nerves until the grand climactic overload. Fall. Into the soft sheets. Sink. Heavy breathing, breaths being caught.

"Why...huff...why do you call me Petrichor?"

Redhead on his chest lifts up. "It's the smell before rain comes."

"That doesn't exactly answer my question."

"Well...I guess it's because you think you're free. But no matter where you go, the rain and I will surely follow."

He gives a half-smile, takes him by the hand and holds his waist. Swaying to the slow swing playing on the radio, his lovers head on his chest, granting an embrace in return. Moments enjoyed – pretending the night was theirs and he had no worried woman to return to come morning.

Rain peppered the streets. Morning was sure to arrive within the next two hours. Genesis left first – dressed himself smartly and kissed him goodbye at the door before shielding himself from the heavenly assault with his suitcase.

Sephiroth watched his car back out onto the street and speed away. Gone. Like a candle flame in the wind. He picks up the package the redhead left behind – manila folder. Contents spilled on the bed – information on the current affairs at Shinra and details on crossing the border and seeking refuge via an arranged protection agent. Aerith loved their present lifestyle – white picket fence, manicured gardens and modern kitchen – abandoning it for safety would be a hard pill to force her to swallow.

Hidden amongst the papers were black and white photographs. A time lost when he worked in protecting the interests of corporate powers. A time where he was dissatisfied.

"Where will we be in 10 years?" his cheeks were flushed, blue eyes full of hope.

Sephiroth wanted to be mundane. Have a wife, a kid, a dog, nice house and steady, honest work. He wanted to leave Shinra, leave the bureaucracy and let the empire rot itself from the inside. But he could not say that to him – not when he was lying in bed beside him, naked, coming down from a climax and so insatiably in love.

No. He was to be a pious man. A man without sin, who did no harm to others or orchestrate mob wars. A man who did not lie with other men, but instead copulated for the intent of bearing children.

It was difficult to throw those photographs into the flames of the fireplace. Their smiling faces blackened before turning to dust as the fire consumed them. All for the better, for he was a good husband, a good civilian man. Regardless, the hand-knitted angora sweater in the package was not to be fed to the fire.

Aerith questioned him, patted the soft navy blue cloth.

"This looks expensive." She said, "Where did you get it?"

He ignored her, "Can't a man have something without being interrogated?"

She sealed her lips and continued with making breakfast. Her marriage was unhappy – her book club friends all agreed – either Sephiroth was seeing another woman, or he was a confirmed bachelor using her as a disguise. Whatever the case may be, the man never uttered a kind word her way and disliked all forms of affection, to the point of mandating that they sleep on separate floors of the house.

To Sephiroth, there was no point in offering her niceties. She was a terrible cook, a disorderly mother and there were many times the liquor had gone missing only to be found drained next to her sleeping, inebriated form. He knew that she went to bible study after church on Sunday while Sephiroth took their son to the park just so she could make eyes at the young church minister.

No matter, because before Sephiroth _had_ a problem. One night Sephiroth, he had the nice young man from down the street pay a visit.

"Cloud Strife, ma'am!" he tipped his hat to Aerith who smiled and let him in.

The men talked about sports, whilst Aerith filled their refreshments. When the later hours of the night set in, it became clear to her the men were going to be drunkards guffawing at the television. So she retired for the night. And the gig was up. Sephiroth led the boy into his room, pulled off his pants and put his penis into his mouth. Cloud bit his own fist, his other hand in silver hair.

The older male slicked his erection with oil and took the blonde's body, groaning, having spent months without another body to reach climax with. He thrust ardently, careful to not make too much noise in fear of waking his wife. Cloud shouted, the large cock inside him hitting his prostate.

"SHHH!" Sephiroth hushed, but the blonde continued to moan and whimper.

Grabbing his hips, he flipped the boy over. "Bite the pillow." He instructed and Cloud complied, moving his thin hips back against the older man's.

Moving quickly, desperately, sex feeling so raw and so good, he thrust hard into the boy until the blonde quivered, back arching as he spilled his seed onto the sheets. He tensed, spasmed, Sephiroth's fingers bruising him as he pulled him against his fervent sex before filling Cloud's ass with his orgasm.

They lay in the bed together – trying to catch their breaths before Cloud stood to get dressed and left, in the middle of the night. He quickly became difficult to be rid of, threatening to discredit and dishonour Sephiroth and his family with the truth. It was a tale Genesis was witnessing from afar and over an inconspicuous dinner he shared with Sephiroth how he found the ordeal amusing.

Sephiroth entertained him, for he understood the difficulty men like him faced with finding partners. He warned him that if their get togethers became too frequent, Aerith would become suspicious. The boy seemingly agreed, keeping their meetings few and far between, but his neediness, his lust was becoming too strong. His demands were growing more outlandish, his threat, the sheer amount of blackmail he gathered – Sephiroth was at his whim. Until one night he rode Sephiroth's cock and said.

"Imagine if I shouted really loudly for Aerith right now?"

"Don't you dare."

The blonde opened his mouth wide, "AERITH!"

Sephiroth pushed the boy off him and quickly dressed himself, throwing clothes at Cloud who slowly pulled his shirt on, frustrating the older man intentionally by refusing to put on some pants.

His wife rapped on the door, "Yes?" she gasped at the sight before her of a half-naked male and her fully clothed husband.

He thought quickly, "Shield your eyes, Aerith. He's a lot to drink. I think he should sleep here rather than go outside and terrorise the neighbourhood."

Aerith nodded her head, "Oh of course! Certainly, I agree! I'll get a blanket ready for you on the couch."

Come morning, Cloud had left, and Sephiroth awoke with a pain in his neck. He opened the front door and went to fetch the mail. Utilities, mortgage, a letter from his mother in law to Aerith and a hastily written note:

 _Good job with that lie last night. Let's see if you can do it again next time._

Scrunching up the paper, he pocketed it before heading inside. Tossing the letters onto the breakfast table, he picked up the phone and dialled an old friend.

At Salvador's, a fine Italian restaurant, they met for dinner. If there were problems, nuisances that the law failed to deal with, there were people who could fix them. Smoking a fag, looking dapper in his red suit like the devil himself.

"Another date?" he said, voice low and sultry, blue eyes glinting with tease.

Sephiroth passed him the note. "He's trying to destroy my marriage."

Genesis sipped his wine, "How could he when you already are?" he quipped, reading the note, "My…he truly is quite taken."

You see. For a fee, this redheaded doll-face was more than just a lap ornament or a narcotics specialist for an underground subsidiary of a major corporation. He did more than sign aspiring musicians and actors to gigs, whilst supplying the industry with drugs, and dubious officials at the top of the chain with his skills in security and orchestrating events to cripple the competition. No, he was also the kind of person with enough resources, enough influence, and certainly more than enough means to make a person just disappear.

And this redheaded doll-face had a weakness. While he flirted over wine and spaghetti, he let his intentions be known. And his plush, red lips stretched into a seductive smirk before he penned his price onto a paper napkin.

 _Motel 66_

True to his word, four weeks had passed since he acquired this angora sweater and the blonde was nowhere to be seen. Aerith asked of him over tea and Sephiroth tried to hide a smile.

"I think he mentioned he went to see his family."

"Oh." She said, stirring in some sugar, "I hope he is having a wonderful time."

The next month, the family was packed – their house and their furniture sold, Sephiroth drove them off beyond the city border to start a life anew in the countryside. Their contact brought them to their new home, a private mortgage arrangement was in place with funds to be deposited monthly to a Mr G. R.

Aerith had been upset – hurling porcelain at Sephiroth for weeks as she had to leave behind her home, her city and her friends from book club to be whisked away to some place Sephiroth wasn't even certain where or what it was. However, the country home was unlike any other. Charming stone facade, high ceilings, panelled windows, double French doors, decorative hardwood floors, marble tiles, crystal chandeliers – it was large and regal, yet not extensively so. The garden was lush – alive with flowers and green grass – round the back were fruit trees and a landscaped yard with shady trees and a playset for children.

Work had been arranged for him – a quaint physician's office closer to town was set up, advertising his skills as available for house visits. The agent was disposed at his service – keenly observing and with hand ready for his revolver in protecting the doctor and his family.

In Spring, a man in a nice suit paid a visit. A friend of Sephiroth's from the city, he said, and Aerith let him into her home, flaunted her new fine china as she poured him some tea. He was charming, witty, and good to her son – helping him with his reading and teaching him a new rhyme.

Her husband came home not too soon after, playing pretend at the role of a good father as he ruffed up his son's hair when he came to greet him at the door.

"Dad! Dad! The nice man taught me a new rhyming song! Do you want to hear it?"

"Maybe later." He said, hanging up his hat and coat, "Who's this nice man?"

He froze. Devilish grin, red hair, arrogant blue eyes.

Aerith smiled, "A friend of yours has come to visit! He's quite lovely. It's a shame you've never introduced us before."

He was taking a huge risk testing Sephiroth like this – infiltrating his home, his family, his life, without any care or regard for his wishes. But he played nice. Sat down with his family for dinner with this charming man who created a tale full of half-truths – he had met Sephiroth in college, it was a lie that they were friends, it was also a lie that Genesis was a clean-handed honourable person who did not abuse power, nor did he crave it.

He had brought with him toys for his son, and perfume for his wife. And for Sephiroth.

"Come see me in town some time, perhaps tomorrow night for a boy's night. That is, if your wife does not object." He turns to Aerith, face sweet and tone amiable, "I promise you I will not let him become an animal and will remind him of the lovely wife he has waiting at home."

She blushes and giggles, "You're too kind. I'm sure in your hands he will be safe and faithful."

How far from the truth could she be? The house they stayed in belonged to the redheaded demon who was clawing at Sephiroth's chest in a room of an old inn. The mortgage he was paying was a pittance – a reduced rental rate from the kindness of Genesis' icy, cold heart. The safety and idyllic lifestyle they led – machinations of the man kneeling on yellow carpet taking Sephiroth into his mouth. The certainty, the fantasy, the unspoken wishes, the hope to continue living an honest lie were not fruitful had it not been for the pretty man moaning his name as Sephiroth fornicated with him.

When he reached the cusp of zenith, he could almost catch the fragility in his strength. For all the years he was living his lie, hiding from who he was and who he had been – he could not shake the feelings which erupted inside of him. He would pass it off for nostalgia – for a sinner's lust for sinning – yet he knew it was not that. He knew he could not, even when such a powerful man as Genesis was entirely vulnerable, between donating assets to him and lying in bed, sex hazed with another man claiming his body for pleasure – he could not harm him. He could not wrap his hands around his thin throat and strangle him – to finally silence the yearning and the voices within from shouting at him. Shouting to leave Aerith, shouting for choosing societal values over someone he was actually content with sleeping with.

For as much hatred and disdain he had for the redhead, he knew it was undeserved. Genesis did not ask for Sephiroth to fall in love with him all those years ago. He did not ask for the confused former soldier to become violent because real men were supposed to have a wife and children and believe in God. He also knew that Genesis had tried to help him understand - to come to terms with himself; got him a job in his industry where he worked patching up wounds on sets to wounds from mob wars between rival agency heads. It was the dark side of show business – the one rife with rape, abuse, drugs and paedophilia which no one talked about, until one agency wanted to slyly annex another.

Genesis had big dreams then. He wanted to be a director – go big with art films and bring his own brand of flamboyance to the entertainment industry. However, at present he saw a greater problem within the industry itself and fought defiantly to resolve it, whilst playing the sick game of drug charades, money laundering and information brokering. A man with his power, quickly fighting to gain some more after collaborating with Andy Warhol and Truman Capote, would never let it be seen or known when he was at his weakest.

Sephiroth could see it. In those blue eyes which opened, just for a moment, before squeezing shut as his climax ravaged his body. Pain.

In bed together they lay, Sephiroth deciding to cuddle with him after years of refusing to do so. They held each other, both so vulnerable, yet Genesis in Sephiroth's opinion was the stronger one here. He accepted heart-break selflessly – paid for Sephiroth's wedding, for Aerith's dress, bought them their first home, set up a college fund for their potential children and made as many as possible arrangements for him to live the happy life he felt he deserved. A happy life, a life without a male partner, but a woman who could bear children and stay home to keep clothes pressed and the house tidy. He loved him so much he did not turn pain to anger, but initiative to provide for Sephiroth the life he wanted, yet the one Genesis could never give him.

He wanted Sephiroth's dreams to be realised, for him to have happiness, even if that meant Genesis was not to be his love. And for that, Sephiroth owed him his life. They parted ways in the parking lot, checking for any onlookers about before sharing a quick kiss and driving away in opposite directions.

The redheaded demon who plagued Sephiroth's life was returning to his penthouse in the city, enjoying caviar and champagne in crystal glasses – enough to hide his sadness, occasionally smiling, believing his former lover is happy. Sephiroth returned to his wife, smelling like sex with another man, drifting back into misery as he played pretend, spending his nights dreaming of a better place. Hoping that one day he could forget the one person he loved.


End file.
